Gott Vona
by Mein Liebling
Summary: Iceland had been in some strange situations before, but this one just takes the cake. "Where am I?" "Why, you are on Island." "And what is the year?" "938, the year of Good Hope. It was Freya's day the last time the sun rose. Are you feeling alright, lad?" It was a terrible case of Deja Vu that he wasn't ready to experience. [NorIce time-travel, SuFin, DenNetherlands]
1. Chapter 1

_**In the Year of Good Hope, 938, on Freya's Day:**_

_I cannot understand this sense of foreboding that has overcome myself. I sense something shall happen- good or bad, I am unable to tell- in the near future, but what it is, I am uncertain._

_Tomorrow we set sail for Island on another raid, my men have high hope for good loot and meat, but I have told them to not be greedy._

_People say that we are thieves and butchers, but I find those words harsh and unrealistic. After all, we are just foraging for food, it is normal animal behavior. The only people who understand are my people and the three similar others, although I suspect some of the other islands in the southern lands do so also._

_I have gotten off my original purpose, I believe I have spent too much time in Matthias's presence._

_I presume this will be my last loge in these pages for two or three weeks, depending on how well the Gods treat us on the seas._

_May Ægir protect us._

* * *

This is for the Random AU competition on the Anime/Manga Fanfiction Challenges forum.

I got the theme "Time-travel" so yahoo, Norway/Iceland in Viking age, beat that.

I will try to update this every week, and don't worry, this is going to have longer chapters and no, it will not be written in loge form. Also, I am sorry if I have gotten any mythology wrong, and if you could please correct me if I have so, I'll change it.

Human names will be used.

I don't own Hetalia Axis-Powers or the Vikings.


	2. Chapter 2

"**It's going down, I'm yelling timber**

**You better move, you better dance**

**Let's make a night you won't remember**

**I'll be the one you won't forget."**

* * *

It was pure. Despite the darkness in the dusty old attic, the mirror had a particular shine to it that almost seemed unearthly. He felt drawn to it, to touch the crystal of the mirror that nearly glowed and accented his features with a sharpness and clearness, he felt like he could walk straight through the mirror to the other side. It stood out, compared to the rest of the antiques in the attic that hadn't been touched in over a hundred years. While the rest were in poor shape or covered in cobwebs, this mirror, which had been buried in the back for who knows how long and covered in an old brown cloth, was in impeccable condition. It seemed almost like magic.

The personification of Iceland pulled away from the mirror somewhat reluctantly, his bright violet eyes clouded with curiosity at the beautiful object. It would be a shame for him to get his dirty fingers on the object. He had volunteered to help the owner of the building to clean the attic, and he knew that the owner would not appreciate (no matter how nice the old man) his grimy white gloves staining the delicate mirror. Iceland sighed as he recovered the mysterious mirror, vowing to come back to it later and study it more when given more time.

With a quick glance down at his watch, the dirty teen maneuvered his way out from the packed to the brim attic and down the ladder to inform the owner that he was done for the day. Tomorrow he would have more time to investigate.

"I'm done, Björg! Is it alright if I come back tomorrow to finish up?"

The grey haired man looked up from his desk in the office next to the attic's ladder, smiling brightly at the sight of the dirty teen. "Of course, Eiríkur! Take as much time as you need, I really appreciate you doing this."

Iceland smiled warmly as he shook his head, his silver bangs flying in the breeze he created. "No, it's fine. I enjoy helping you." With that, the silver haired teen waved goodbye to the thankful man and pulled on his long jacket that was hung by the doorway. He stepped out of the quiet building and into a silent street- no one was out since it was fairly late and everyone was getting ready for the approaching holiday of Independence Day- also known as his birthday.

Iceland enjoyed the happiness of his people far more than sitting around with people congratulating him about becoming a year older. He was technically one thousand one hundred and forty (even if many of the other nations considered him seventy years old, and his appearance didn't help that matter) years old. You kind of got sick of birthdays after the first two hundred.

Iceland let out a puff of air, watching as the white steam rose higher and higher into the air. The silver haired personification stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and let out a small sigh as he watched some of the puffins take flight off of a nearby roof.

That reminded him. He needed to check on Mr. Puffin. The animal could take care of himself quite fine for many hours, and Eiríkur even had left him alone to take care of the small little house on the outskirts of Reykjavik they owned, once for a week, but Mr. Puffin was a talkative creature and if he didn't have someone to blabber on to he would get bored quickly and wreak havoc on the next unsuspecting creature. That was usually Iceland unless he was feeling particular sadistic.

Many, many times he had gotten complaints from Danmark when he would set Mr. Puffin on him after locking up the bird for a day. Oh, how hilarious Denmark's expressions were. The look of horror as Mr. Puffin flew at him and began pecking at his gravity defying hair and calling him his nickname, 'the obnoxious guy'.

Such fond memories.

Iceland continued walking straight towards his house, in no hurry, as his thoughts turned from one topic to the other before landing on the mirror. It was in astoundingly good condition for something a hundred or so years old. Most of the things he had found in the attic were covered in cobwebs or were falling apart despite not being used, but the mirror held firm, with its shining silver edges and bright reflective light. It was strange. Iceland would have found it suspicious if the old man assured him that the attic had not been touched by anyone in _years._

By now Eiríkur had arrived in front of his small house- oh, he had numerous of them all around his beautiful island, but he mostly stayed at this light blue one because of its prime spot near the capital- and was subconsciously unlocking the house, preparing for the assault of insults and complaints that came from his friend, Mr. Puffin.

"Oi! What took you so long?" the snarky black and white bird yelled as he flew over to his owner. "I've been locked up here all day!"

"Ah, sorry. I told you I was going to help out at Björg's house today. He needed help cleaning his attic."

The moody puffed let out a 'tch' and settled down on the one of the chair's around the kitchen table, as he watched his owner take off his coat and shoes, and began to strip off his gloves and clothing to wash them. "Whatever. You owe me herring though, bastard!"

"I owe you nothing!" You could practically see the smile Iceland was wearing on his face, his voice filled with amusement at the daily routine. The shower could be heard running, and the washing machine was slowly beginning to turn faster.

"Tch. Brat."

* * *

The next day, when Eiríkur woke up, he had completely forgotten about the strange mirror until he was halfway to the building. This time, however, he had brought Mr. Puffin along with him (after the amusement of last night had faded he decided he really did not want to risk locking the bird up again, not to mention that every time he did so he felt terrible to Mr. Puffin) and now the puffin was flying around his head in 'normal' mode, which comprised of not speaking and acting like a regular bird. Something that Iceland would hear about in the attic- that is, if the animal even followed him into the building. He'd probably just fly around the island until Eiríkur was done.

And just as he had speculated, the bird parted with him at the front of the house with a gruff 'I better be getting herring for dinner' before opening his wings and flying away, turning into a black spot in the clear blue sky.

Iceland sighed and shook his head, before heading inside the two stories tall (and an attic) house once the maid opened the door. He kept his coat on this time- the air was chillier today than it was yesterday, and the attic might be drafty- and walked straight up to the owner's office to knock and tell him that he had arrived.

"Ah! Eiríkur! Good to see you. I'll be gone in the afternoon for a meeting, so I'm going to have to leave you alone here. Think you could make sure nothing happens?"

Iceland smiled and nodded. "Sure, of course."

Björg smiled brightly. "Thank you, lad."

Iceland headed straight up the ladder after that, his gloved hands (the pearly white of the fabric already turning a dark grey, much to his distance) expertly maneuvering up the rickety metal and climbing into the dark hole in the ceiling.

He grabbed the flashlight he had left from the day before by the entrance- oh how he wished there was a window in the suffocating attic, but unfortunately the people who built the old Victorian were paranoid of people robbing them, so he was left to suffer. The silver haired teenager turned on the flashlight, watching the light flicker for a moment before landing on an oddly shaped chair covered in dust.

Eiríkur made his way towards the back of the room, careful to avoid miscellaneous items that were sprawled precariously on the old creaking wooden floor. He would have to clean them up sometime in the near future, but for right now, he nimbly stepped over the items and continued on his way towards the mirror that nearly glowed in the back of the room.

How odd the object was, seemingly glowing brighter when he neared it. Eiríkur didn't understand why he was so fascinated with the object; it was just a mirror- a beautiful, well-kept old mirror albeit, but he was never interested in his appearance anyways. Yet this one drew him towards it like a moth to a flame, it's glittering edges- which, he could see, was decorated in miniature flowers and birds, women washing clothing and images of men hunting deer- shining in his dull flashlight's light.

He reached out to touch the edges, before stopping a millimeter away from the edge, shaking his silver head and retracting his hand. His gloves were covered in dust and one touch could ruin the miraculously clean mirror. It would get dirty when he would have to help move it out of the attic, but for right now he would prefer to keep it clean. It would have a little less dust on it to wipe off at the other end.

Iceland turned away from the mirror, his curiosity burning brighter than ever, but he knew he would have to start cleaning so he wouldn't end up cooped in the attic the whole week. He was already feeling claustrophobic and he hadn't even been in the small room for five minutes.

Eiríkur sighed and closed his amethyst eyes as he waved away some dust that had settled on an old table. He had work to do.

After a few hours of working nonstop moving, dusting, cleaning- a boring cycle of endless monotonous movements-, Eiríkur finally stopped when he heard the old man's voice echo up through the hole in the floor, "Eiríkur! I'm leaving now for my meeting! Will you be alright?"

Eiríkur opened his mouth to reply, but instead ended up inhaling dust and began coughing loudly. "Y-Yeah, I'll be fine!"

"Are you sure?" The old man didn't sound convinced, instead a little worried after he heard all the coughing.

"Don't worry, I'm not hurt. I'll be fine."

"Well… alright then. I'll be back in about two hours!"

And with that, Eiríkur heard his footsteps move away from the ladder and disappear down the hallway, leaving Eiríkur alone in the house, as the maid had left at around nine or ten. It was hard to tell when there was no way of looking outside or no clock that was working.

Eiríkur made his way towards the back yet again, absentmindedly looking for an old rag he had misplaced. It was hard to tell where it was, in the gloomy, stuffy room, and as Eiríkur neared the mirror, he turned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the allusive material, when his foot caught on a rope that was trailed on the floor. Last time he had just jumped over it, but he was distracted and didn't realize he had gotten caught on it until it was too late.

With a cry of surprise, the personification of Iceland fell towards the mirror, his eyes wide and arms flying about, trying to grab on something to stop him from crashing and breaking the beautiful piece of workmanship- and his head and torso. But he could find nothing to hold onto in those brief milliseconds, and Iceland hastily shut his eyes and tried to bring his arms up to cover his face as he fell onto the mirror.

But just as he expected the impact, Eiríkur felt himself being squeezed- almost like being pushed through an opening far too small- and the feeling of cool, dank air flowing over him and through his clothes, making him shiver. His eyes immediately surrounded by black, and for a moment, Eiríkur couldn't see, smell, hear, or touch- and he panicked, trashing around trying to find something- _anything_- and was suddenly assaulted by all his senses overloading at once, making him groan and wince as he tried to open his eyes, only to immediately close them when all they saw was a blinding white light.

He stayed like that for a few moments, before trying to open his eyes once again- much slower this time, with a lot of blinks to make it easier for him. Finally as the world came into view, and his sense of smell and touch came back to him, Eiríkur was aptly aware of the smell of fresh grass and the feeling of spiky pieces of plant poking into his gloves.

He opened his eyes fully, bringing one hand up to cover his eyes from the harsh sun, and the violet gems were wide with disbelief as he caught the first sight of where he was. On a tall grassy hill, with no sign of life all around him, Iceland was in the middle of nowhere with the sea to the south and the feeling of fear creeping into his veins.

It didn't make any sense. Last he knew he was in the attic- and he fell onto (_into?) _the mirror- and now he was here?

But where was here?

Eiríkur numbly stood up from where he was sitting and turned in a circle, looking for any sort of life whatsoever. His tall old white shoes crunched against the plants and his jacket- which he was now thankful for having brought it with him- flapped against him as a sudden on burst of wind came from the east.

The silver haired teen began to walk up the hill, his steps slowly beginning to become faster and faster as he desperately tried to find a source of civilization.

He wasn't normally someone to panic. Rarely, if ever, did he ever do so. But he knew his country like the back of his hand (which is was, technically, since he was his country) and although Iceland wasn't as inhabited as many of the other countries, and he had large tracks of land that were left to grow wild that weren't used by anyone, he had many roads connecting his country. You could usually see a house, or building, or livestock being held near each of the plots.

But there was nothing.

It was like they were never there.

With a growing feeling of dread and nervousness, Iceland set off down towards the south, near the sea. Maybe there, he could at least find answers to his questions.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, following, favouriting, reviewing, and the like! It really helps motivate me to write faster. I hope you enjoyed! A chapter should come out every two/three weeks; I doubt I can write one faster than that. If you see any mistakes please tell me! Chapters should steadily get longer now._

[The song is 'Timber' by Pitbull and Ke$ha.]


	3. Chapter 3

"**Hey, Mr. Bartender mix me a drink,**

**I really need something to tell me it's okay not to think,**

**Because I've been to all these bars **

**And I've seen all these places.**

**I've hit on all these girls**

**I've heard the same conversations.**

**.**

**I think I've been here before,**

**I think I've run into you,**

**I know the things that you do,**

**'Cause this is déjà vu."**

* * *

Iceland was about ready to fall to his knees and praise all the deities when he caught sight of the roaring ocean and beach, with its welcoming blue depths of foamy water and crystallized gems. He was beginning to think that he would never arrive, as the silence around him was beginning to become maddening and never ending.

He picked up his speed, and ran out of the tall flowing grass as the harsh sun beamed down onto him. The feeling of uneven rocks startled him and he momentarily lost his balance and landed on his knees in the black sand. Eiríkur hissed at the pain as he carefully rose from his spot. He looked around at his surroundings. Although unfamiliar rock formations surrounded him, with cliffs jutting out into the harsh foamy sea and grasses poking through the rocks, he could recognize the dark wet sand anywhere. The familiar call of Puffins rose high above him, and Iceland raised his head slightly and caught sight of one flying near to the sun, making him squint his violet eyes.

He looked back at where he came from. As far as his eyes could see, he saw rolling hills of grass and tall cliffs, with the only sign of life the Puffins who kept quietly to themselves.

"But _how?"_

Eiríkur stood shell shocked, eyes still fixed on the barren land. For all things accountable, there should be a town there. Around two hundred people to be exact, all rushing around with sounds of people conversing and a few cars roaring down the roads filling the air. Vendors offering their wares to tourists and cafés playing soft music were what he should be seeing and hearing. He knew his island like the back of his hand, and Vík í Mýrdal should be where he just walked through to get to the beach.

This was crazy.

He knew he was on his island. Where else could he be? There was no place on Earth that was quite like Iceland, and he could feel the familiar warm buzz in his chest the signified that his people were here and thriving. But why was nothing on the rolling hills? Why did it look like Vík í Mýrdal was never there?

_What in the world was going on?_

Eiríkur sat down right where he was standing, and tried to figure out what had happened, but he couldn't wrap his mind around it logically.

He thought back to what had happened. He knew he wasn't in a dream. He had somehow tripped into the mirror- when a feeling of coldness washed over him, and he felt discombobulated; it was hard to forget such a feeling- and then he guessed he passed out for a little bit, and wound up on the hill before heading down to the beach, where he was at now.

Great. That didn't help figure out much about how the mirror was some dimension traveling piece of metal. Maybe it was magic? But that was stupid, Norway, England, and Romania were the only ones who could do so, and why would they enchant a mirror so people could just randomly fell into another world?

_Was _this another world?

Did he somehow time travel into the past?

There was no way he could be in the future, for he had little to no doubt that his island, in the future, would have skyscrapers (how he loathed them) and large bustling cities and all his green would be gone by the year 2200. He hated the thought of it, but that was the path of how the world was heading, so it wouldn't be a far stretch that he would end up following it.

Okay, so future and present time were ruled out, which would mean that Eiríkur either time traveled to the past (something that made him scoff at in disbelief, yes he was superstitious and yes he had faced some weird things- _he had a talking Puffin for god's sake- _but that didn't mean he would readily believe in something as crazy as _time travel_) or he was in a parallel world, or he was dreaming.

He really wished he was dreaming.

* * *

"Guðbrandr, raise the sail."

"Ja, sir."

"Jon, stop slacking on the rope."

"Yes, sir."

With dull blue eyes, the figure wrapped in furs watched the treacherous sea crash against his ship, as a cold mist settled over the horizon. He knew the ocean like the back of his hand, though, and carefully altered their route when he noticed that they were moving slightly off course.

"_Oiiiii! Norge!"_

The blond man stiffened from his spot next to the railing of his ship, noting the sudden tension that hung in the air.

He heard loud pounding footsteps coming towards him, and without further thought, grabbed the figure that was about to pounce on him and threw him over the side of the ship, keeping his hand gripping the sleeve of the other man. Bright blue eyes glanced up into Norway's own, with no sign of shock in them. It seemed like it was a common occurrence with the two, having one almost throwing the other overboard. The crew didn't stop what they were doing, instead moving fluidly through the interaction without a second glance at their leader and ally.

"Wha- Norge! What the hell was that for!?"

"Hm." Lukas looked down at his ally hanging below him, his black gloves gripping the bright red fur that was wrapped around Denmark's arm.

"Don't 'hm' me you bastard! Pull me up! I'm slipping!"

"As if I would let you slip, Dane. Then I would have to take the trouble to fish you out… or maybe I could just leave you. Sweden would not care."

"_Norrrggggeeee! I thought we were friendddddddddddssssssss!"_

"We are allies, Dane. I never agreed to be your friend."

The Danish man pouted up at his self-proclaimed best friend as the smaller man hauled up the ax wearing male. He dusted himself off quickly and opened his mouth to retort to the Norwegian, only to find himself staring at the back of Lukas as the other man went back to checking their coordinates along the wall of the ship's main cabin.

"You're so mean to me…"

After a few minutes of silence between the two, with Norway checking the stasis on the ships movements and calling out a few commands to the men to shift the sails higher, as the wind was beginning to pick up, and Denmark awkwardly shifting around and trying to glance at Lukas's paper, which the Norwegian was studiously covering with his back.

"…We will arrive at Island in a week."

"Huh?"

But Norway wasn't listening to him, instead leaving the wall and barking out a few more orders to the crew, who had accidentally moved the ship too far to the right, and Denmark hurriedly followed the other Viking, as he shouted out a few orders of his own.

"No, you're pulling the ship too far to the right, Matthias. Men, steer more to the left!"

"Ja, sir!"

"But now it's too far to the left!"

"Do you question my position as captain, Dane?"

"No!"

"Then kindly be quiet and let me get us to Island as fast as possible."

Denmark wisely kept shut for a few minutes after.

* * *

**"I think I've been here before,****  
****I think I've run into you,****  
****I know the things that you do,****  
****'Cause this is déjà vu.****(Whoaa)****  
****This is déjà vu.****  
****(Whoaa)****  
****This is déjà vu.****I think I've been here before,****  
****I think I've run into you,****  
****I know the things that you do,****  
****'Cause this is déjà vu."**

* * *

_Thanks so much for everything, guys!_

_Also, just to remind you, this __**is **__incest. I would extremely like to thank _**The Rain in Reykjavik **_for explaining/clarifying the Icelandic incest laws to me. Ten years in prison does not sound like fun. :P _

_I'm sorry if this came out later then I said it would. I actually was working on a lot of other pieces, and I'm actually writing a long one-shot for this pairing so that's been kind of intermittent between this and that. _

_I've also started another multichapter, though that has to be updated every week, and I'm also going to restart my Naruto story, so I'm probably going to update once a month on this story. I love this story, don't worry my dears._

_Ugh. This is short, I know. I'll try my best to make all the other chapters longer next time. _

[The song is Déjà vu by 3OH!3.]


End file.
